In the Real World

by Nōnen Títi

  “My grandfather doesn’t believe in honouring soldiers,” I tell her.

  “Some families are not very patriotic. Maybe your grandfather didn’t hear much about the war; after all, it was far away. That’s what makes the soldiers who volunteered to help free the old country so brave,” Miss Coven replies, as if forgiving me for my grandfather’s ignorance.

  “The last time the old country was occupied was by the Vikings. Maybe Mariette’s grandfather isn’t quite that old yet,” Kathleen jokes.

  “My granddad went to free our country and he got a lot of medals,” Lindsey announces.

  “How old is your granddad?” Fred asks her.

  “Sixty-five.”

  “Shut up, you idiot,” Charlotte tells Lindsey when everybody starts laughing, which causes Lindsey to curse back at her friend.

  Miss Coven silences them both by starting the last part of that video, which informs us that our civilization was invented by the Greeks in a mere two hundred years and that we owe all our art and drama, our science and philosophy, and our politics and democracy to them. Not to mention our warfare, but, of course, the video doesn’t tell us that.

  Kathleen and I play hangman using the words we pick up.

  The last period of every Friday belongs to a weekly gathering in the gym to hear Mr Moralis praise himself yet again. I stick another fifty cents in the pot, this time for how often the principal’s hand will touch his crotch while singing the national anthem. He’s bound to make us start over at least twice because it wasn’t ‘enthusiastic’ enough and there are two verses each, so my guess is six. Fred can do the counting. I have better things to watch.

  These Friday assemblies are always the same – a futile attempt to reach all the students at once, since at least a quarter of them go home early, usually including me and Kathleen, but not today since I don’t want to meet our house guest. Like always, the announcements are about sports events and rules. Mr Moralis even allows the school captains to make a short speech about the athletics day.

  “All who want to participate in sports need to dress in silly hats and shorts. Those who can think and use their head shouldn’t go to school, but back to bed,” Fred sings our favourite jeer at the sporty people.

  As a reward one of the teachers at the side wall orders him to stand with them for the rest of the assembly. Fred isn’t alone. Pat, Lindsey, Charlotte and a few more from their gang have also been pulled out. I have no idea what they did wrong this time. Fred ignores them and the teachers and blatantly takes out his tally book.

  In the meantime the school captains are asking for suggestions for student activities.

  “Yes, how about a role play for civics? Or do you only do charities, sports and canteen?” Kathleen shouts.

  The surprised captains turn to Mr Moralis, who duly takes back the microphone. “I’ve already answered your teacher that this is not appropriate. Civics is a serious subject. It’s not about acting but about definitions. Our student participation program allows your representatives a voice in those issues that are suitable for your age group, which does not include the contents of the civics class.”

  Next he turns to the captains to lead the assembly in singing the anthem. I stay seated, pissed at him for talking down to us. He also doesn’t ask them to start over, but when we exit the gym Fred hands me eight-fifty from the pot. “You won.”

  “Perfect. Let’s go have a Coke on Mr Moralis’ crotch then,” Kathleen suggests.

  “Yuck, you can have it.”

  JEROME

  Uncle Gerard doesn’t stop talking the entire time we’re driving. He’s stressed how happy they are to have me at least five times. He’s told me about the daily schedule of the family, the nearby shopping centre, the neighbours and the school Mariette goes to. He is trying so hard to make me feel at ease but I just can’t do this and I don’t know what to say.

  “It’ll be a good opportunity for the two of you to talk about what happened,” Grandpa Will said when we left this afternoon and I’d begged him again not to send me there.

  “You can call us anytime you need to,” Granannie promised, but she didn’t give in either.

  I watch the lights go by. I’d like to jump on my uncle to force him to stop the car. I’d like to scream really loud so the windows break. I’d like to tell him the reason I can’t be here. I’d like to cry, but I don’t. I just sit and stare and try not to imagine what will happen when we get there.

  We don’t arrive until eight o’clock at night. I take my bag and follow Uncle Gerard to the door. “We’ll get the rest of your boxes in a minute. First we’ll have a drink and something to eat,” he says.

  That’s the last thing I want.

  Aunt Karen is waiting. “Welcome Jerome. How are you? Did you have a good drive in? We’re very pleased to have you. Don’t worry about your dad, okay? And you can call Rowan as often as you like.”

  “Give him a chance to come in, Karen.” Uncle Gerard nudges me until I step over the threshold. “Girls, we’re here,” he calls up the stairs.

  I hear a door open, but it’s Miranda who comes bouncing down. “Come on, I’ll show you your room,” she says, taking my arm.

  Uncle Gerard nods and all of us follow Miranda up. There are four doors on the landing. One is marked with a sticker showing a child on a potty. Miranda opens the door opposite it to a pretty big room with a bed, already made, a desk, an empty bookshelf and two chairs. The rest is bare. “You can decorate it any way you like,” Aunt Karen says.

  “Mariette, are you coming?” Uncle Gerard calls in front of the door next to mine.

  “She won’t come. She put all the rubbish in here this morning,” Miranda tells him.

  “Be quiet,” Aunt Karen scolds her and then turns to me. “Don’t pay too much attention to Mariette. She’ll come around in time.”

  “What’s that all about?” Uncle Gerard asks as he puts his hand on my shoulder to go back down.

  “I’ll tell you later. I’ve got fresh bread and warm soup.”

  A bit relieved that Mariette’s staying in her room, I do manage to eat a bit before getting the boxes out of the car and into my new room. I stay there the rest of the evening, trying not to listen to what sounds suspiciously like banging on the wall. At eleven-thirty Aunt Karen knocks on my door. “Settled in a little?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “Would you like a drink before going to sleep?”

  I do, and go down with her. She shows me where to find everything I might need and hands me some towels. “We’re in the room down the hall in case there’s a problem. We don’t need to go anywhere tomorrow, so sleep as long as you want,” she says.

  When I get back upstairs I find the bathroom locked. I retreat to my room and listen, waiting for it to be free. Maybe it’s right this way. Maybe I should just let her or the bullies at school punish me. Or maybe I could just die first, but I can’t live with it eating me from the inside.

  It’s two in the morning before Mariette finally goes to her room. I tiptoe to the toilet and quickly brush my teeth. I don’t sleep much. My little alarm clock says seven when I step out of bed. I use the shower as quietly as I can so I’m done before anybody needs it.

  I organize my boxes, the desk and bookshelf. I re-fold and hang my clothes. A crash against the wall tells me that it’s only eight o’clock and to be quiet. I sit down to read instead but I can’t concentrate. My thoughts travel back to Sunday night, to what she looked like then, afraid and crying. I put the book away and boot up my computer. I need distractions. I wish people would get up.

  MARIETTE

  Midday already? I must have fallen asleep after Dad told me they were going to the shops to show Jerome around. Good, that gives me a chance to have breakfast. I pull my black sweatpants and jumper from the bottom of the heap – I feel like black – and go downstairs. I butter and cheese a few sandwiches and make an instant cinnamon coffee and I carry the whole lot back up.

  Jerome’s room is next d
oor. I wonder what kind of stuff he has. What does he write about in his diary? They’ll be having lunch at the food court. I finish my sandwich thinking about it. It would be so wrong… but what he did… Besides, I need to know who I’m dealing with in case he’s crazy like his dad. I have a little sister to protect. I should at least have the right to know what he thinks about me.

  I walk down the stairs, peek into the garage – no car – dump my empty plate into the sink, pour a juice and climb back up. For a brief moment my heart is pounding when I open his door.

  Wow, is it ever tidy here. Even the books are ordered by size and subject. He’s used the empty boxes to make more shelving. The bed is made, wow. That makes it a lot harder to snoop around. Maybe he’s not just a pretty boy either. Those books look interesting.

  In the desk drawer I find what I’m looking for: diaries and a photo album. I very carefully lift it out. It shows pictures of Uncle Charl and Aunt Jane when they were still together, Jerome and Rowan as little kids; happy pictures. Of course, pictures always only show the good times. There must have been a reason they split up.

  Gosh, he’s won two journalism credits and a poetry contest? I return the album and go in search of a poetry book of some kind. There’s none. Shame. Oh well, I came for the diaries after all. They’re marked by year. I pick up the current one and open it on the first page. January 1st:

  Has time looped round;

  chaotic, wrong?

  Am I a father;

  are you a son?

  Give me the magic

  to undo the past;

  to mend the clock;

  return him home.

  To straighten the order

  to a linear right;

  the wrong undone.

  You father, me son.

  Strange! I turn a few pages. There are more poems; more than normal diary entrees. Some are no more than a collection of thoughts; the start of a poem without an end. Others seem complete and some have rewrites stapled to the pages, each with a few changes.

  Mama, when you had me; did you see a son?

  Mama, when you bore me; did you hear a song?

  Mama, when I first appeared, did you open your heart?

  Did you at least give it a chance, when I was new, or was I your misfortune from the start?

  Mama, who were you, before I came to stay?

  Did you laugh and seek your luck, which I then chased away?

  Mama, did you dream of me, once you had crossed the sea?

  Did you at least for just a moment, when you arrived there, spare a single thought for me?

  Mama, I longed for you, many years before you left.

  Mama, I wrote to you, but not a word came back.

  Mama, I remember still the tremble of your voice.

  I hear it call me stranger, the cause of all your pain, but from today, I know, I’ll never cry for you again.

  Shit. I don’t want to read this. I leaf through the book hoping for words. There are a few. The pages after April twentieth are blank. Maybe he didn’t get around to it yet.

  I hear the sound of a car door and jump up, throw the diary into the drawer, close it, then reconsider, reopen it and put it in tidily. I hear talking downstairs – I close the drawer fast. “Ouch, f-!” I’d slammed the stupid drawer on my finger. I remember to take my juice and leave the room, closing the door too loudly, and go into the bathroom to run my hand under the cold tap. Serves me right, that. Why can’t he be a bastard? Why does he have to be so sensitive? Oh, wait a minute, he is a bastard. There’s no poem there to express the pleasure he got out of those worms. Of course I don’t need to read it; I saw it in his eyes.

  I kick the waste basket as hard as I can just because it’s there. It falls over and I notice the bookmark I forgot to take back last night.

  “Mariette, is that you in there? We’ve brought home Indian food,” Miranda yells at the door.

  “Who else would it be, you idiot?”

  “Mum says to come down and eat.”

  “I don’t want any.”

  “Mum said to not let you say that.”

  “You tell Mum to go stuff herself.”

  I listen to Miranda going down. She jumps the last three steps as she always does. I return to my room. A few minutes later there’s knocking followed by Dad’s voice. “Mariette, will you please let me in?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m your father and I’d like to be acknowledged.” I pull open the door. “What is it?”

  He walks in uninvited. “You can’t hide all the time Jerome is here. For one thing he’s going to school with you on Monday.”

  “I’m not hiding.”

  “Have you ever though about how he feels? Do you think it’s easy for him after what happened?”

  “I don’t care what he feels. I care about being left alone.”

  “Well, let me tell you something then. If you want to be left alone, you can act in a decent manner to all of us. I’m not asking you to entertain him, but you can be polite and leave the animosities inside your room.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do, but you people keep invading my privacy.”

  “Like I said, Mariette, if you want us to stop doing that, you’ll have to come down for the normal family routines.”

  He walks back out but leaves the door wide open. Okay, they want me down there? I’ll go down. They’re soon going to wish they never asked. I slam the door behind me and take a deep breath.

  JEROME

  I’ve just taken a bite when Mariette walks into the kitchen. Somehow that startles me and I swallow too big a piece and begin to choke. I hear chairs moving but manage to loosen it by slapping the back of my neck. When I look up Mariette is staring at me. She probably thinks I did that on purpose. “Sorry,” I tell my aunt and uncle and add, “I’m fine”, when they keep on asking.

  Mariette raises her eyebrows disdainfully and turns away. For the next ten minutes we eat in silence, all but Miranda, who tells her sister about our trip this morning. They drove me around the neighbourhood pointing out the sports fields, the local shops, the nature reserve and the bus stops. They showed me the route the local bus takes to get to Flatland High and where to get off. That’s in case Mariette won’t show me, I guess. Then we went to the big shopping centre, Bellevue, and walked into the library to get me a card. Mariette doesn’t respond but that doesn’t seem to bother Miranda.

  “Do you know why this place is called ‘Flatland’? It’s because before they built anything here it was so flat and all the bushes looked so alike that people got lost,” Miranda explains.

  Then my uncle insists on starting a random conversation and trying to involve me. He means well but I preferred the silence. I feel like everything I say will be held against me. Mariette and I manage to avoid any more eye contact during that meal. I breathe out as quietly as I can when she leaves the kitchen.

  “Don’t worry about it, okay?” Uncle Gerard says.

  I nod at him. I don’t want him to feel bad. I’m a guest here. They’ll put up with me because they promised, but they’ll be happy when it’s over. Maybe not because of me, but because of the atmosphere my presence causes. I offer to help with the dishes but get told to go relax.

  “Don’t feel obliged to help. The girls don’t and it’s okay if you’d rather be alone,” Aunt Karen says.

  I do prefer that and send her a grateful look before going to my temporary room, worrying that Mariette’s door will open when I walk by.

  I can feel more than see that things have been moved, or rather I sense the remnants of a visitor. I check the drawers, but everything is still there and intact. I’ll have to be careful not to leave things behind.

  I stay in my room during the afternoon and try to concentrate on a book so I don’t have to think about having to go to a new school on Monday. The bruise on my face is still visible.

  “Jerome, phone,” Miranda calls, banging on the door. I open it and she gives me the cordless handset. “It�
��s your brother.”

  “It’s me,” Rowan says. “I just got here. They’ve got three dogs and a pool and a huge garden and it’s warm here. We came in a plane.”

  “Will you be okay then, with Marc?” I ask.

  “Yeah, he’s got all these really cool toys he doesn’t play with anymore so I can have them.”

  That wasn’t what I was asking, but Rowan doesn’t mention Dad and neither do I. It sounds like he’s okay for now. We don’t talk long. There isn’t much to say. I bring the handset back down and briefly tell my aunt and uncle what Rowan said.

  “Do you want to call Grandpa Will to ask him how Charl is doing?” Uncle Gerard asks.

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Any time Jerome, you know where the phone is.”

  Before I can go back up he pulls out his wallet and gives me thirty dollars. “I’m assuming your dad gave you a weekly allowance. This is what we give Mariette. Think you can manage?”

  “Yes, thanks… I mean, I never got this much. I don’t need this much.”

  He insists I take it. I thank him again. I hate being on the receiving end of charity but there’s nothing I can do.

  Dinnertime starts like lunch. Mariette is present in body only. My aunt and uncle try their best to make conversation, but they try too hard and Miranda talks incessantly to compensate.

  “Maybe you should show Jerome some of your school work,” Aunt Karen says. “Mariette, are you hearing me?”

  No response.

  “It’s okay. I’ll find out on Monday,” I tell my aunt, but she isn’t satisfied.

  “Mariette, answer me. Don’t be so rude.”

  “Leave it be, Karen,” Uncle Gerard says.

  “No, I will not. I’m not going to put up with this and I’m not going to be ignored, so you had better respond really fast or you can leave.”

  Mariette smirks at her father.

  “If Mariette wants to ignore us, let her, Karen. It won’t change our mind. Jerome is staying here and we are more than happy to have him. I like the idea of a son. At any rate, people who ignore our existence also don’t need to accept our services or allowances.”